I thought I knew my patient. At her funeral, I realised my hubris

I saw that my diminished patient wasn’t just a collection of ever-growing symptoms to be “managed”; there was a whole other side to her writ large over the lives of the people she loved. How did I miss it? At what point did I develop that tunnel vision that permitted me to see her as a diagnosis? Her husband didn’t expect me so when he graciously recalls to the audience how much she trusted my counsel and how this reassured him, my shaming feels absolute.